Heat Check (feat. Bandman Ken)

I'm spendin' thousands every week, fresh as f*ck, got on Lanvins with Givenchy on my tee You a bitch, boy, stop fakin' like you street, you a dummy, why you cuff that hoe and I can f*ck for free Gettin' famous, I can't leave the crib unless I got my heat She was goin' and she let me hit, bro, why you mad at me Dumb shit, wakin' up the neighbors in that SRT I can pull up from wherever like I'm Curry, this a heat check Rich nigga, got the newest Jordans and they ain't release yet I get money, so you better know that I'm about to spend it I like Ksubis, RTAs, nigga, all my jeans expensive I ain't been up in the booth, let me go lock in I got a 50 on the switch, this bitch is boxin We doin' the dash up in the wagon And this bitch ain't rented', I ain't been up in my bag They thought I went missing In the SRT, tires scratchin' up the block Your bitch fuckin', and she goin', and she got your ass on block RTA, denims damn twenty's hangin' out my damn pocket Still ballin' on these niggas huh And they ain't gotta know me Say you gone do what Pussy boy, you better show me This ain't no iced out, this a Plain Jane Rollie